The Beat
by Vampire Reader
Summary: This happens during and after Beth & Mick visit New York City. Beth leaves NYC for the airport. Mick feels more alone than ever, but that's about to change.
1. Chapter 1

This happens during and after Beth & Mick visit New York City. Beth leaves NYC for the airport. Mick feels more alone than ever, but that's about to change.

THE BEAT

Beth had cleaned up the glass shards from the assassin's break-in, right through the brownstone's only bedroom window. She was now dumping them in the kitchen trash and probably carrying the plastic bag to the curb. Too bad the assassin wouldn't fit neatly into another plastic bag to take out with the trash. He was lying against the far wall where I'd dragged him after I broke his neck. I supposed Josef had access to the local NY contingent of Cleaners.

I removed the last slug from my friend's back and plunked it down in a convenient ashtray on the dresser. I supposed it was decorative since no one smoked anymore, especially around here. Polly, the nurse, would never have smoked in a sick room if she smoked at all, which I doubted. The woman on the bed was comatose and vampires didn't get much out of smoking. We have a different addiction.

I handed my friend a glass of blood to help heal his stake wound. He smiled, took it, and began to drink. His stab wound healed while he drank and some color returned to his face. He had looked more like a corpse than usual. Naturally, the color was an improvement. Vamps try to look human most of the time. It's easier to mix with the public. Josef set down his glass and said "Thanks."

"You're welcome," I replied.

"Better take some yourself. You don't look too good. When's the last time you took any nourishment?"

I smiled. "This morning in Los Angeles." That was nearly 20 hours ago. He didn't have to argue, knowing what I needed. He emptied a bag of blood into an expensive looking whiskey glass. I took it and sipped slowly to keep from gulping. I guess I really needed it by then. I could have held out longer, but I wasn't trying to prove anything. It was O+. I prefer A+ but beggars can't be choosers. Even while he was here in New York, Josef managed to get fresh blood. Of course, it would have come directly from the blood bank for Sarah. It was far better than the morgue blood I was used to.

For his beloved Sarah who lay on the bed as beautiful and youthful appearing as she had been when she slipped into her coma in 1955, nothing was too good. Too bad she couldn't appreciate it. Josef had tried to turn her, but it didn't work. She got stuck somewhere in-between. He had not wanted to share this failure of his with me, and his heartbreak over it, but circumstances left him no choice since Beth and I managed to track him down. If we hadn't, I'd have a dead friend to mourn instead of a dead assassin to dispose of. While I drank, Josef tapped a number into his cell-phone. I nodded toward the body, raising my brow to ask the question. "Taken care of," he said. The Cleaners were on their way. No one would find the body.

Beth returned to the bedroom, neat and clean, and smelling of lilac soap. She had scratched her arm on one of the shards, but the smell of blood in the room was no longer a problem. Neither of us was tempted now. "I already washed my arm. Do you have band-aids?" she asked. Josef went to find her one. While he opened and applied it over her scratch, she looked at me and I knew what she was thinking. Josef's beloved on the bed had written of their short affair and her love for him in a diary. I nodded to her unspoken question.

When he was done, Beth reached for her coat pocket and removed the book. She held it out. "You should have this," she said, pressing it to him. "She really loved you." Josef couldn't speak to thank her for it, but tears were sliding down his cheeks.

She asked if he was returning to L.A. with us. He told us he intended to remain in New York for a few more days, and then turned back to the bed and Sarah. We seemed to disappear as far as he was concerned. I wondered if their love was great enough that it allowed them silent communion. I hoped so.

Beth and I walked down Waverly Place looking for a cab to bring us back to Kennedy Airport for our flight home. I whistled for one. While the cabbie was backing up to let us in, an idea popped into my head. "Let's do something." What we had seen was so depressing; we both felt it like a weight. Maybe a little something would make us feel better.

"Like what?"

I mentioned the Village Vanguard, suggested that we might listen to a few sets, have drinks, order a steak for Beth. Jazz reminded me of happier days. I'd spent time in New York, never to live, but to visit, to meet with friends, to see shows on Broadway and listen to jazz. It never failed to remind me of my living days to hear classical jazz. I hoped the Vanguard hadn't changed too much and it would have still have something that would speak to me.

"I didn't leave things well with Josh," Beth said. "I think I need to get home."

I gave her a half smile. "Of course you do," I said. How could I forget Beth was in love with someone else and that I was just her friend? I actually knew how I could forget. It was because I loved Beth more than life, or un-death in my case. Sadly, I could never tell her my feelings for fear of removing her chance at a normal life. Love is putting the other person first, isn't it?

"But I'll drop you," she invited.

"I'll walk," I said. "This is a good town for it." I couldn't bear to be so close to her feeling the way I did, knowing she was walking away from me to another man. I got her situated in the cab. I couldn't help touching the window. She covered my hand with the window glass between us and gave me a sad goodbye smile.

Before the cab left the street, I began to walk through the night. They call us 'night walkers', don't they? It seemed apropos the way the slight evening breeze picked up. That and my stride caused my long coat to flow behind me like a cape.

The Chrysler Building towered into the midtown sky. I knew my way around New York by the old skyscrapers. The Empire State Building came into view. Ten years ago, I could have guided my steps by the World Trade Towers, but they're gone now. They were supposed to last forever like me, but you never know what tomorrow will bring, even for supposed immortals. I never liked their design, all steel and glass. Los Angeles is like that, always looking new. The old classic landmarks of New York remained. Buildings had character in the 1930s. They had a special meaning for me. I was young and alive when they were being built. I nodded to them briefly and kept walking.

I suppose it wasn't very late for New York. After all, this is the 'city that never sleeps.' Things were always happening. I walked past a record store. Do they call them that anymore? Records are antiques like me now, and kids don't know what they are. They ought to call them CD stores. Anyway, the store piped music out into the street. I would have been glad to listen to something light. Instead, they played Tom Jones singing that cheesy song, "Without love, I have nothing. Nothing at all." I walked fast, trying to put the sound of that song behind me. I didn't need reminding.

Greenwich Village came into view. It looked the same, but not. The old coffee houses were tourist attractions now, even more than they were in the 1950s when I first walked these streets. Tourists of every color and eye-shape wandered the sidewalks, pointing the sights out to each other when they saw something they had read about, or someone. Maybe they thought they'd see Woody Allen. It reminded me that I was alone and out of my time.

I turned into 7th Avenue and there it was on the corner, the Village Vanguard. A crowd was lined up at the door. I had no other destination in mind, just a place where I could forget about life for a few hours. I had no life to speak of anyway, so I got on the line. This is where Miles Davis, Hank Mobley, and Thelonious Monk played and Pete Seeger sang. Spirits of the greats hung around. I could almost feel them in the air. My vampire hearing picked up a sax inside that sounded like Joe Lovano. I could do without Bluesy lyrics tonight and relaxed into the cool jazz that floated up from the small room downstairs.

Some of the people around me were smoking joints. This was the place for it. I concentrated and listened, allowing my extra senses to pick up the flavor of the place. It was still real inside, a Mecca of the jazz world, not just a memory. The instrumental ended and a new sound began to emerge. This one had a different beat that sounded kind of primal. It reminded me of a wild heartbeat. Well, Vanguard is at the leading edge of change. It's what the name means. It was still jazz, improvisation on a theme. Between the drumming sections, a singer came on. He had a great voice, smooth and melodic with a great range. I did not understand the words and wondered what language he had been using. The song ended with drums, powerful. I hoped I'd see the singer and the drum man when and if I finally got inside the club. They went on to another song. I let the sound of the drums and that voice roll over me until it stopped.

When another group took over, it was like wakening slowly from a dream. The beat continued in my head even when it was gone. I looked around and found my attention settling on a young man leaning against the building. He took in my expression and gave me a nod. I couldn't help but notice his long brown hair combed back from his high forehead. He was dressed casually, jeans and leather. I might not be a connoisseur of male beauty, but he had it. I wondered fleetingly if he was a male prostitute out to score a rich patron for half an hour or so, and how much it would cost. What had made me think that? I shook my head to regain my equilibrium.

He took a deep drag off his joint and held the smoke inside a while before letting it drift away. The sweet smell made me think of burning rope. He turned his cig and offered me a drag. "No. Thank you, though," I said.

"You here for the music?" he asked. His voice was good, melodic, the kind that ought to be singing.

"What else?"

"That was me singing inside and handling the sticks. I'm ready to go home, but I wanted to see how much of a crowd was left. Some friends are coming over. You play don't you?"

That was him? I gave him a small bow and he grinned. "Yeah, I used to play, but that was a long time ago." How did he know? "Trumpet and guitar."

"We're gonna' jam a little. Interested?" My watch said it was after one in the morning, but I wasn't tired and his offer intrigued me. My long walk had worked off some of my excess tension and so had the mellow jazz from downstairs. The beat of the drums gave me new energy.

"Well, if you're not inside, what's the point of going in? Sure. Why not?"

We walked. I vaguely wondered if there would have been any danger to me walking through the dark, narrow streets with a complete stranger, if I had been human. As I was, of course, that didn't seem likely. That reminded me, he had not yet told me his name. "I'm Mick," I said to start.

"Sam," he returned and turned to me. "Mohawk."

"Oh," I said, and decided against saying Vampire. "I'm from L.A."

"Nice to know you," he said, and we continued to walk together quite comfortably. I wondered what I was getting myself into. If I caught a cab before dawn, I could be at the airport during the worst of the daylight, awaiting my plane in the cool air-conditioning. I took another look at Sam, and decided going home could wait.

His friends were already inside when he opened the door. I hadn't asked if he lived alone so any number of these men could be his apartment-mates. I heard the rents in New York City are as bad as in Los Angles or worse, and he wasn't a headliner. He introduced me to his buddies as his new friend. It reminded me of when I played in a band myself, scoring gigs at the clubs and dives along Sunset Boulevard back in the late '40s, after the war, and the early '50s. Everyone was casual. Music and gigs, the occasional girl, whiskey and drugs were all that mattered. They asked me what I played, whom I liked, and I told them. Someone lent me a guitar, not too badly out of tune. I tightened the pegs a bit until it sounded better and joined in. It felt good and sounded good. I felt as relaxed as I had felt in a long while.

We were still playing when I felt the sun begin to come up. That reminder of what I was made me think. I had to make arrangements and soon. Sam brought me aside, into the smoky kitchen. "Stay with me. You don't have anywhere to go for the next few days, do you?"

I didn't know how to take that, or why he should think so. "Stay with you?" I gestured to the apartment. "Where? Here?"

"No. I'm going up to the rez to see my folks. Some of the others don't like me much, so it's easier when I bring a friend. I tried to talk the council into making innovations – paving the roads, putting air-conditioning into the Longhouses, those kinds of things. They don't know what to make of me, but some of them don't like it. They say if I want to play White, to go live with them." Kind of like playing human, I thought.

"So why me?" I looked meaningfully into the other room where his multiple friends were still playing. "I'm a stranger."

"That's a good thing," he said. "I'd like to show you my home. Besides, I have a few other quirks. They know about it at home and it makes them feel funny."

Curiosity was going to do me in if I wasn't careful. "Quirks? Like what?"

"Oh." He said the next few words casually, but he watched for my reaction. "I was born into a family that passed down shaman gifts in their blood. It skips some, but I got a full dose. Mind-hearing is one of my gifts."

I backed away from him, trying to think of an excuse to be on my way. "I don't think staying with you is such a good idea," I said. "I'd better call a cab."

He laid a hand on my arm. "Musicians sleep days just like you. We'll all have to get to bed soon. We can leave by late afternoon, if you can take that much sun. The village is just a little over the Canada border. My car has reservation plates. They won't ask for your passport." I was staring at him. He had heard things I never said out loud and it was freaking me out. "I'll drive you to Montreal Airport after our visit. In the meanwhile, I have a freezer you can use for your nap. We'll turn it on it's back."

"What did you say?" Oh God, I thought. What do I do now? He's been reading my mind. Should I leave before he tells anyone else? How safe am I?

"Don't worry. I have another friend. He explained his requirements. You're safe here." He pulled down a corner of his shirt to show me healed fang marks. Damn! A mind-reading Freshie Mohawk?!

I was rendered speechless and after that mental outburst, my thought processes probably stopped as well. He knew what I was and wasn't running for the torches. I was grateful for that, but I still didn't know what to do.

"It'll be fine," he added, still trying to convince me. "We can hunt together."

"I don't eat meat," I said. What was the point of trying to be evasive?

"Not a problem. I can provide what you need, or you can take it from whatever I bring down with my little bow & arrow." He made a little motion of drawing back a bowstring and I wondered if he was joking. "You're not adverse to deer blood, are you?"

I had to smile at that. I think the tips of my fangs showed, but since he could read my mind, what was the use of pretending? "I don't know. I never tried it."

"My grandmother always saved me some when she butchered the kill. She added a little vinegar, but you'd probably like yours best straight up. There's still my other offer," he reminded me.

It became harder to hide the points of my teeth when I thought of that, but I told him the truth. "Better not tempt me. I'm out of practice feeding fresh. I might kill you."

"You'd never get to meet my grandmother that way," Sam said. "Let's do the hunting thing. Let me know when you're tired and I'll show you where the freezer is. I think we're going to be friends. Maybe, if I can talk my other friend into turning me, you can introduce me to the Los Angeles community. It would be nice to see another city. Whatdya say?"

"Let me give that some thought," I said. "Anytime you come for a visit, even if you haven't been turned yet, I'll show you around. We have some decent clubs too, but nothing like the Vanguard." I shook my head at the strangeness of our conversation. "Deer blood," I said, and exhaled sharply with a little laugh. "Your friends here, are they like you?"

"Indians?"

"Mind-Listeners?"

"No. There aren't that many of us. Of course, my grandmother will know, but she knows how to keep a secret." He smiled.

I made my decision and wondered if I'd be sorry for it later. "You're right that I don't have anything more pressing to do at the moment. I was looking for something different to take my mind off other things, and this is really different." I wonder if he knew what I was thinking if I wasn't specific, or if it even mattered. "Should I just think at you or do you prefer your conversations out loud."

"Out loud. It gives my head a rest. I think we have time for one more set before everybody's too tired to play. I'll draw the drapes. You take the guitar and I'll take the drums, okay?" We went back to join his friends.


	2. Chapter 2

The Beat

The Beat

Chapter 2

It wasn't the cold that made my eyes frost over when I woke up. I forgot where I was. No light seeped into the narrow-coffin-like box I had apparently slept in. I moved my hands against the lid feeling for a release latch and found none. Even if I was locked in here, I should be able to force my way out. Before I could move, I heard footsteps coming toward me. I tensed, motionless but ready to spring, ready to kill if that's what it would take to be free.

"Mick? It's Sam. I'm going to open the freezer now. Okay?"

Everything flooded back. "Okay!" I shouted. The lid opened and Sam was smiling down at me. I sat up and looked around. We were in Sam's bedroom. He didn't seem surprised to note that I was naked. I'd probably undressed in front of him. Why couldn't I remember? Vampires don't get drunk or high on whiskey or drugs, but last night still seemed pretty much of a blur. Maybe it was Sam's acceptance and the music. Oh yeah – there was that other thing. Sam could read my mind. That was scary.

"My clothes are a little short for you," Sam said. "Didn't you bring any luggage when you came to New York?" he asked.

"Of course I did. My overnight bag is at the Ramada by the airport. I still have to check out and get my stuff. We'll need to swing over there before we head north." I had brought two changes of clothing, underwear and socks. I hadn't brought any blood. The FAA has rules about liquids, and they're especially scrupulous about planes headed for New York City. I hoped to stock up if it became necessary and I knew of a place. I hoped it was still in business because if it wasn't, I had to hope Sam really was a good a good shot with his bow and arrow, or rifle or whatever he used.

I got up and pulled on my jeans from yesterday. That's when I noticed the bandage on Sam's arm. I sniffed. "You cut yourself." As if he didn't know it. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam walked to the dresser, and then returned to me extending a glass half filled with blood. "What kind of host doesn't offer his guest breakfast?" he asked, all innocent, as though this was a normal situation.

"Damn it, Sam. I could have managed," I said, but I reached for the glass. I'd have to ask him where he learned all this stuff, and by where, I meant from whom. "I won't have you doing this twice a day for me. It's not healthy. You'll pass out and I don't know the way." He gave me a small smile, but this was too serious for jokes. I had to make sure he understood. "If I'm going to make this trip in any kind of comfort, and without worrying about you passing out, we'll need to make another stop for me to pick up supplies. You do have a cooler, don't you?"

"Sure. I have two."

"Bring both of them with Freeze Paks." While he prepared for our trip, I found out he really did own the apartment. It was a gift from his other friend, he said. He fixed himself a few sandwiches – peanut butter and banana, and baloney, then topped off his cooler with cans of apple juice and chips. I finally asked the question that had been bugging me since last night. "Who is your other vampire friend?" I wondered if it was anyone I knew.

"His name is Francis. He's a diplomatic attaché to the UN from Romania. When he's in New York, he stays with me. Except for you, he's the only vampire I know. He won't talk much about himself, except that he explained his requirements. I see him a couple of times a year." I could understand Francis' attraction to Sam. I felt it too.

Sam went on. "He came down to the Vanguard one night last year to listen to the jazz and we hooked up. He's a good guy, interesting, but I couldn't listen to his thoughts. He thinks in Rumanian." He grinned. "I think he's pretty old though. It's just a feeling I got from him, an impression. I read feelings too."

I nodded to tell him I was following. I'm able to do that myself with my increased senses. I can tell when someone is lying or scared, but that's not much compared to what Sam can do. "It's weird that a human is able to do that, but not unheard of," I said. "Am I easier to read than most?"

"With you, it's like your thoughts are spoken out loud, like you want me to hear you. It must have been the beat of my drum that brought us together."

That brought me up short. "Explain."

"Last night I sang an old shamanic calling chant. The drumbeat is part of the chant. It's kind of like a spell. I don't know how to say it another way, but it puts out a call to help me find someone who needs me or someone I need. Maybe both."

"Why were you looking for someone who needed you, last night?"

"That's my other quirk," Sam said. "I dream. They need me at home, and I was supposed to come with someone. I didn't see who it was in the dream, but I wasn't just checking to see how much of a crowd was left last night. I was looking to see if someone had responded to my music, and you were there, waiting for me."

"Oh," I said.

He took a look around, closed the drapes, picked up his cooler and slung his backpack over his shoulder. I took the empty cooler. With any luck it would soon be filled. I followed him out to his car in the apartment's parking facility. It was a sky-blue Mazda, a fairly recent model. "Good mileage," he said although I hadn't asked. Well, maybe I had. This quiet communication with Sam took some getting used to.

We fastened our seatbelts. "Where to?" Sam asked.

I directed him to a vampire club I visited on my last trip to New York. It was in the basement of an old, but still classy, apartment building, something like the Dakota but not that famous. We try to stay under the radar. I found it and followed the signs to the parking garage. We were approached by a valet who offered to park for us.

"We won't be long," I said from the passenger's seat. "Just a pick-up."

"We deliver," said the valet.

"I'm from out of town. I should be back in 10 minutes. Where's your temporary parking?" He directed us and we pulled in. "Sam, why don't you stay in the car?" I suggested, but silent alarm bells went off in my head. That never worked out well these days. "Better yet, come in with me, but stay close and don't say anything." I reached for the empty cooler.

He shadowed me while I approached the counter to place my order. There wasn't much activity yet, but it was warming up. It was a nice place as I recalled - soft lighting, nice music, comfortable chairs with alcoves in the back for privacy. There was even a restaurant for the Freshies. It was nearly dark. The vampires would soon be in for breakfast before they headed off for work. It would get really busy later, after midnight, when people stopped in for lunch or dinner.

The counter attendant asked me for my order. "A six-pack of A+ if you have it, please," I said.

"Yes Sir. That will be 129.60, all taxes included. Cash or charge?" I pulled out my wallet and gave him my charge card.

"Thank you, Sir," he said. Club attendants are discreet, not saying names aloud, but I'm sure Sam noticed mine, if not on my card, in my mind. My thoughts were an open book to him. American Express would know I had been in Manhattan. The name of the club would seem normal, just another branch of The Pulse in Hollywood. Business people make business trips all the time. For the next few days, I was on vacation in upstate NY and Canada, doing some hunting and sightseeing.

Apparently, Sam's friend Francis didn't know about the club, or if he did, he hadn't brought Sam with him. A few Freshies and fewer Vamps were coming in. We'd be long gone before it got crowded.

We returned to the car. I stowed the cooler in the back seat floor under a blanket. "Next, we go to the Ramada by the airport. Kennedy, not LaGuardia. You know the way?"

'Yeah." He put the Mazda in gear to pull out of our space, but he looked over to me. "What was that place?"

"It's a vampire club," I said. I tried to make my tone very serious. What I had to say to him was important. "Never come here alone unless you want to be someone's main course. You can't count on a stranger having your welfare in mind. Or, if you can with the mind reading, you don't know how much control they have. Accidents happen, and I don't want one to happen to you."

"There are groupies lining up – men and women." We drove past them back on the street. They were dressed to attract, showing too much skin for the weather. They'd be colder on the way home, lighter by a pint of blood.

"We call them independent Freshies. Some of them are curious, some are addicted to the bite. I've heard it can be a pleasurable thing. It wasn't in my experience before I was turned, but my sire was in a bit of a hurry." He turned to me for a quick look, but immediately returned his attention to the street. "Once they've been bitten, they can't go to the police because they're an accomplice. They might form stronger attachments, but they might not. These often turn out to be nothing but one-bite stands, like a fix for two kinds of addictions – pleasure and blood." I shook my head and sighed. "If I wasn't sure I could take care of myself last night, I wouldn't have gone with you. You have to think about your safety."

His eyes were looking for the Queens Midtown Tunnel signs, but his mouth formed a grim line in response to my warning. Good. "You're free to do as you wish, of course. Francis couldn't have an exclusivity deal with you either, or you wouldn't have had me over last night."

"We're just friends, like I said."

"That's fine, but I think he cares about you since he bought you your place. I'm starting to care about you too. I don't want you to be used, then thrown aside. Hanging with the wrong people can get you killed."

Sam nodded sharply. "Thank you for telling me that," he said. He showed his card at the descent to the tunnel and we were on our way. I was always amazed at how much tunnels made me feel as if we were sliding through time, like a black hole kind of, only it was white. We were headed away from the city, but it was after rush hour, so we moved kind of fast. When we came out into the night again, Sam asked me why I wouldn't drink fresh.

"It's a long story – one I'd rather not talk about," I said. He didn't ask again. He could pull the story from my head if he wished, but I hoped he was going to respect my privacy.

He drove carefully and soon we were at the hotel. As long as I had to pay for another day, I took a shower. When I came out, wrapped in one towel, and drying my hair with another, I suggested Sam take a shower too while I dressed. We had a long ride ahead of us. I had no way of knowing where we'd be sleeping tomorrow. I hoped I could find someplace cold and private when daylight came.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam got on the Expressway and headed north. We don't have bridges in L.A. to match the majesty of the Whitestone Bridge or the half dozen other bridges that span the Hudson River. We have nothing like the Hudson. The Los Angeles River is a joke. If it ever flowed freely, its water was directed away from its original course to supply the city. The beauty of the landscape, the outlines of the bare trees, and the stars, seen through my enhanced vision, held me almost as spellbound as had Sam's music. It's one of the perks of being undead. City traffic had dwindled when we began to cross the long and lonely Tapanzee Bridge. There were few other cars.

The span seemed to come out of nowhere. We were surrounded by woods and then, quite suddenly, it seemed like we were soaring over water. Even the air changed. I smelled the salt air of the ocean on the wind. I became lost in the grace and beauty of the bridge and the black water east and west of us. Stars blazed above as bright as the lights on the bridge.

"You look half-asleep," Sam mentioned. "Didn't you rest well last night?"

"Too well," I admitted. "When I woke up I didn't remember where I was. It's a good thing you said something before you opened the freezer door. I was getting ready to kill to get out of there. I'm a little claustrophobic."

"How do you manage at home?"

"I have a Plexiglas lid on my freezer so I can see out. It keeps the cold in but it lets me see where I am when I wake up. How does Francis stand that thing?"

Sam chuckled. "In Rumania, that's the top of the line. He saw the same kind he was used to and bought it on the spot." We were more than halfway across when, to my surprise, he pulled into the far right lane. I hadn't noticed the uneven sound of a flat tire or anything at all amiss with the engine. He stopped the car and put one hand over his eyes. "Do me a favor. Look back at the bridge," he asked softly.

I did as he asked, moving my attention up to the towers, and around to the girders and lights. It reminded me of a spider's web, so strong yet stunningly beautiful, and graceful beyond description. I wished I could describe it to Sam. There were few distracting lights on the shore so the bridge was all there was. The flowing river seemed like a black mirror except for a few whitecaps whipped up by the wind. Ducks and seagulls slept on the rolling water, their heads tucked under their wings. I looked back to Sam, trying to guess what was wrong with him. His eyes were closed and his breathing had changed. He had one advantage over me; he could hear my thoughts when I could not hear his. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"I'll be fine in a minute."

A police car drove up behind us, flashers spinning like crazy, to make sure no one hit us from behind. A highway patrolman exited his car and walked up to Sam, pointing his flashlight at us. Sam rolled down his window. "Are you having any kind of problem, sir?" he asked.

"Just something in my eye. We'll be on our way in a minute," he said. The cop told us to drive safely and returned to his car, but he waited for Sam to pull back into the driving lane.

"What did you have in your eye?" I asked, but I thought I knew."

"Nothing actually. I caught a vision of how you see the bridge. I've driven over this thing a thousand times, but I never saw anything as beautiful as the way you're seeing it right now."

"You can see what I see? This can get dangerous," I said. "Maybe I'd better drive. I'm used to my vision. If it's going to distract you…"

"I'm fine now," he said. "Really. I've learned to turn off my gift when it gets in the way of something I'm doing, but that was too much. There's nothing else quite this spectacular between here and home. I'm ready to drive again." The cop car followed us until we were off the bridge and back on the regular expressway. Then, he peeled away from us to follow more promising subjects. "How can you stand for everything to look this amazing?" he asked. "How do you get anything done?"

"You learn to live with it, so to speak," I said and with a chuckle. "You know what I mean. It' must be like listening to your own music or hearing other people's thoughts the way you do. The bridge looks amazing to me, but you've seen it so often, it hardly affects you, ordinarily anyway. I suppose your drums and chants don't affect you either."

"Actually, they do," he said.

We drove until about 3:00 in the morning, when Sam found us a picnic table along the Expressway and pulled into a parking space. There were very few cars on the road and a few overnight truckers. He exited the car and stretched. I followed him, looking around, listening to make sure we were alone. There were trees and a rest station. While Sam made his way to the men's room, I carried both coolers to the picnic table for our meal.

When he came back, I was half through with a bag of A+. I sipped it slowly, letting the cool blood bathe my throat with relief from my building thirst. We hadn't brought any, but here was no need for a glass here. It was truly a fix I both craved and needed. I don't argue with the essentials of what I am and what I live on, just with how I deal with it. More than 22 years ago, I found a way to survive that didn't involve killing, a way I could live with. There's that word again. Sam looked awfully tempting, but the days when I followed my basest instincts were long gone.

He flipped the top of a can of apple juice and drank half without a breath. You'd think it was blood to a vampire. He drank the rest in a second gulp and opened another. "I was really thirsty," he said. "They ought to put yours in flip-top cans."

I looked at him. "I was on a case a month ago. I became delirious. I'm a P.I. Did I mention that?" He nodded. "I had an assignment in the desert, in the daytime, and it was not going well. I was in the sun too long even before I lost my car. I imagined I saw a can of blood in a snack machine next to the tomato juice." He laughed.

"I never met a human quite like you before," I said. "Doesn't anything offend or bother you?" I was thinking of my blood addiction. Even Beth, once she knew the truth about me, wasn't that easy about it.

"Cruelty offends me. People who use other people to gain their own ends offend me. People forcing their beliefs on other people – that offends me." I had to nod at that. Maybe it was what made me different from most of my own species, if you could call it that. "Taking innocent lives offends me," Sam said.

"Me too," I replied. Sam wasn't all jokes and music, or even all curiosity. He had a serious streak. He ate one of his sandwiches and we got back in the car.

About six O'clock in the morning, we pulled into a campground. It was still dark this far north, but there was a hint of dawn in the east. "We're not going to make it through to my folks tonight," Sam said. "I think we ought to go pretty far into the forest to find a place to rest for the day. My tent and sleeping bag are in the trunk. You can see better, but I know the trails. Will you follow my lead?"

"Sure," I said. I'd been doing it since we left the hotel.

We hiked pretty far in before Sam was satisfied that we wouldn't be interrupted. I heard the sounds of a running stream nearby. He had brought along a disassembled shovel in his backpack. "I have an idea," he said. "The ground is pretty cold. You could dig a trench to sleep in and I could set up my tent over it so no one would think to look."

That could work. The air was cold, in the 40s I guessed, and the earth would be colder. I took the shovel and set to work. In a few moments I had my trench dug. He set up his tent over it with the speed and ease of long practice. The canvas covered the trench and he set his bedroll right next to it.

Completely trusting, I undressed and climbed down into my earthen bed. Before I slipped away, I wondered again how I had come to trust this human man with my life and safety in so short a time. While I slept, I was vulnerable. Sam had the iron shovel. He had used a hammer and tent stakes to put up the tent. If he lured me up here to kill me, there wasn't much I could do to stop him, but I'd already trusted him with things about myself I never told anyone but Josef. I even described my freezer to Sam. Beth had never seen that room, my lair, as she'd probably call it, unless she peeked that night I was tracking a serial killer. She found other things then, but I didn't smell her presence in my hideaway. I felt the sunrise glowing red overhead like a ball of fire, and then I was out.

It was late afternoon when Sam woke me, a few hours before sunset. The late sun didn't hurt as much as the morning did. I went down to the stream and washed as well as I could, then dressed. Before Sam took down the tent, he handed me my cooler. We sat companionably in the shade, not speaking. He drank his juice and ate some cookies. I drank my blood. "We'll get there before midnight," Sam said. "There's one stop I need to make first. I think they'll still be open. It's Thursday, right?"

"Right." I didn't ask; I'd see where we were going when we got there.

"I'll explain what I can, but don't ask questions inside, okay?" It was like the reverse of yesterday when we pulled up to the Vampire club. The sign said "Deer Farm", but there were odd characters afterwards, foreign letters, but not in a language I knew.

We walked together to the office. The man behind the counter gave Sam a big smile. "Hey! Shmuel!"

"Dovid! Ma Nishma?" Sam responded.

"Kol BeSeder. We haven't seen you around here since last summer."

"I was working in Manhattan at that place I told you about. I'm heading home to the reservation for a visit and I need a deer butchered. Can you save me the blood? A couple of quarts should do."

The bearded man at the desk wore a small head covering. I suddenly realized what he was. The man looked at me, then said that they usually sold the blood to a fertilizer place. "We can't use it; you know that."

"I know. It's _traif," _Sam said. "But not for us. I'll pay you extra. Do you have a very clean container? We have to keep it fresh and I don't want it to coagulate before I get it home. I'll return your container when I pass by here on my way back in a few days. Keep the deer whole except for the stomach and the guts, would you please? And wrap it in something to keep it cold."

"Sure. Do you want to help? You know what you're doing."

"I'd like for my friend to watch this. He's an expert."

The man looked at me quizzically. "On kosher slaughtering?"

"No. On blood." The man led us back to the slaughterhouse.

We were back in the car with the deer and a white plastic-topped bucket. Sam put his car in gear and we took off into the gathering night. "What did you say to each other when you first came in?"

"The usual. 'How's it going? Everything's fine' - that kind of thing. We were speaking Hebrew. I help them during their busy season and they pay me in meat and blood for the tribe. I also learn a little. _Kosher_ means acceptable, according to Jewish Law. Deer is kosher if it's slaughtered correctly. They do that at here, by slicing through the windpipe and letting the blood gush away. Sometimes, they save it to sell.

"Kosher butchers have customers who will pay premium prices for the rare treat of kosher venison, but they have a commandment against drinking blood. Their Bible says blood is 'life' and it belongs to God, so people who keep to their laws are not allowed to consume it. They even roast liver to make sure all the residual blood is burned away. I read that. Francis told me in the really old days, people in certain countries thought Vampires were gods. That was before they developed a bad reputation."

"Kind of like cats," I said, fascinated at the way Sam described things. "I heard back in ancient Egypt, cats were honored, if not as gods, as something special. In the Middle Ages, they were demonized and people blamed them for the plague. Of course, the more cats they killed, the more people died. Cats and people can live together. So can people and vampires, when there are rules." I had not expected Sam to be such a libertarian and a scholar of history, but there was a lot about Sam I never would have expected. He was no Freshie, in it for the thrill, but a student of history and a lot more. No wonder he was interested in us.

I'd learned a lot in my 85 years, but tonight I learned something new. "So you can't be kosher and be a vampire too. Good thing I was raised Catholic, I guess. How did you find out about this place?"

"Internet. I can't visit home without presents. You didn't really think I was going hunting in the dark, did you?"

I lifted my hands in surrender. "I had no idea," I admitted. "I'm just a tourist in your life today. You said some of your people think you're too modern. What will they say about purchasing kosher deer meat instead of hunting it?"

"Times change. My grandmother knows that, but some won't accept that we should live any differently than we did generations ago. It's a different world. By the way, would you like some deer blood now or would you prefer to wait until we get to my family's house? They'll want to toast you, our guest. They'll be curious to know if you have the stomach for it. I won't say anything if you don't." He winked. I wouldn't have caught it without my special vision.

"I think it can wait," I said. My friend Logan was known to drain cats. It would take more than ingesting deer blood to kill me, but I wasn't that anxious. We got to the reservation about 10 O'clock. The roads were kind of paved with gravel and the car complained. We pulled up at a small house. Children ran out into the road to see who was coming. People started calling Sam by name and all the lights came on in the house. The next thing I knew, a middle-aged woman was embracing him. A very old woman hobbled to the door. "Sammy!" she said.

He kissed her cheek. "Let me introduce my friend Mick to you and then we'll unload the car," he said. "Mick. My grandma. You can call her Mrs. Birchtree."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Birchtree" I said politely. So this was Sam's famous grandmother. She smiled, but then looked at me uncertainly. She nodded her head towards her grandson who had gone to unload the car.

"Sam does find the strangest friends," she said softly, but she smiled me a welcome anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Mrs. Birchtree took over. Her voice was old, but commanding. "Daughters, bring the deer to the back and skin it. The hide will make someone a good coat this winter, or maybe two coats for the twins. Butcher the meat and put some on to simmer overnight in the largest pot. The rest can go into the freeze house."

"What about the blood?" asked the younger Mrs. Birchtree, Sam's mother.

"Bring it into the kitchen. I think we should welcome our guest properly, if he's up for one of our customs. The children haven't had any in so long; they'll be forgetting what it tastes like. I'll get the vinegar."

Sam was unloading the car. He had the white container pressed against his chest, but when he heard what his grandmother had said, he looked at her without speaking. She lifted her chin. "Of course," she said in his direction. "I'll just stir it and warm it up a bit." Sam continued into the house with it while the women carried the deer carcass between them.

I carried our coolers and my overnight bag. "Come along, Mick," Mrs. Birchtree said. She walked me inside, down a short hall to the kitchen allowing the door to close behind us. Through the kitchen window, I saw the children, men and women walking to the back to watch the skinning and to carry the chunks to the stove. It was a kitchen that spoke of warmth and togetherness. There was a table long enough to seat twenty or more. It seemed Mrs. Birchtree's big family all lived and ate together.

Sam preceded us to set the gallon tub on the table. "The container has a plastic bag for a lining. The blood is clean enough, but strain it if you want. Stir it first."

"You don't have to tell me how to prepare blood," she said. "Go take care of your guest. Come back when he's settled in."

"Okay, Grandma. Mick?" I followed him, carrying my cooler. Sam's room was in the back of the house. He had been expected. The bed had been freshly made. When we got inside, Sam closed the door and turned to talk to me. "We'll be up most of the night with the family. As for sleeping…" He opened the window and a chill entered the room. "It won't feel like spring around here until late May." There was still snow piled on the ground and there was little sign of a thaw. "I'll use my sleeping bag under the quilt. Will you be okay in here if I put a clean sheet on the floor? Or would you rather have the bed and I'll move to the floor? You're my guest."

"I'm used to hard surfaces. Won't your family wonder about the chill factor in the room?"

"This room is in the back of the house. I'll roll up a wind catcher to put under the door. Are you ready?"

"Not yet. From the words and looks between you two, I'd say your grandma and you _can_ communicate without speech. What about the rest of your family?"

"No. My mother has a little skill and one of my cousins has a lot, but he's untrained. Grandma can tell there's something different about you, but she's not sure what. I told her no vinegar in your cup. You aren't the first musician I've brought home for a visit." He gave me a crooked grin.

"Am I the first Vampire?" I mouthed the last word in case anyone was listening. The grandmother might have picked that up, but Sam was sure she could be trusted to keep a secret.

"Yes, you are. Francis never had time to visit, but Grandma knew about my connection with him."

"No objections?"

"She trusts me not to take up with someone I can't trust."

I nodded. "Okay." For some reason, I felt like I had stepped into the Looking Glass or Wonderland, but hey; I was on vacation. That didn't mean I could change my habits. I guess being what I am makes me a little paranoid, but being careful goes with the territory if you want to survive. There was something more on my mind. Sam was about to open the door to return to the kitchen, when I took his hand to prevent him from moving. His pulse sped up and he gave me a tentative smile. "No," I said. "Just stand still and listen to me." He nodded and I released him.

"You said you invited me because you saw us together in a dream. I can see why I needed you at this juncture in my life, but I haven't figured out why you needed me. There has to be a reason, doesn't there?"

"I think so," Sam said. "Dreams can be messages or hints of the future. We have to follow their direction if we can."

"All right. I'll assume there was a reason your music affected me and made me decide to come here with you. I have to find out what that reason is before I can be directed by it. I'll do whatever your custom says guests are supposed to do unless it's something that I can't do, like eat. I may have to lie. You will back me up."

"Of course."

"I want to know everything that's going on in this village or rez, or whatever you like to call it. Did you get a normal call or did your grandma send you some kind of mental message, to tell you to come here now?"

"She called me on my cell a couple of days ago. She said it could wait until I finished my gig and could take a few days off, so it wasn't that much of an emergency. I think things will come to a head pretty soon though."

Several thoughts sped through my mind. "Don't open your window wide. Just leave it unlocked so I can get back in if I need to. Before I go, you'll have to tell me how to block my thoughts in case there are more mind-listeners like you out there."

"Picture a sealed barrier around your mind. Place it there for protection. My gift won't work against anyone who knows that. If I have enemies here, they know that. I won't be able to hear them."

I nodded, taking his instruction to heart. A lot might depend on it. "Listen," I said. "I'm going to walk the periphery of this town when the rest of you go to bed. I can hear whispers behind closed doors. I know how to blend with shadows. If there's some intrigue going on that involves you or your family, I want to know about it. You said in the really old days, vampires and people lived symbiotically, to the benefit of both groups. How did you mean that?"

Sam pressed his lips together, trying to remember how it had been told to him. "Your people weren't called Vampires yet. That word is middle European, and only a few centuries old. Back a couple of thousand years before the Common Era, people who knew them called them Protectors. Giving blood to them was a form of worship. In return, the Protectors used their great strength and speed, and their other abilities to help their worshippers. They were advisors to the kings, leaders in times of war. The oldest sons and daughters of the royal family were made devotees to the Protectors, and later, if they were near death at a suitable age, they were brought over." He stopped.

I took a deep, unnecessary breath and let it out, struck by how my people might have lived in those days. Too bad I was several millennia too late to be a 'god'. I can only imagine that the responsibility must have been overwhelming and humbling. I couldn't help but wonder what we had done wrong to make it change so badly for us. It was a lot to ponder, but I think the modern religions might have had something to do with it. The one invisible God might have had something to do with it, especially after the next religion to make an impact. The influence of the acolytes concerning their favorite god who had been executed on the cross, the one who rose to walk again, might have been a death knell to those who thought of Vampires as gods. I wondered if he might have been one of us. That gave me another cause for speculation, but I had to admit my musings were not going to answer the world's most fundamental questions. It didn't matter in any case. We were what we were. I continued to live to do whatever good I could do to make up for what I was.

"Whatever people thought, I hope you know we were never gods in the first place. I can see how more primitive people could make that mistake. The immortality. We don't age, but we can be killed. Gods can't be killed; not real Gods."

"I guess not," Sam responded, but he still looked at me as if he wasn't ready to let go of some of his theories.

"In any case, I'm here now and you know what I'm capable of," I reminded him. "I might be able to do something that can help you and your grandmother; be a Protector, if that's the word you like. Let's go to the kitchen. Your grandma is waiting for us. I'm ready to meet and greet your family properly."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When we reached the kitchen, Mrs. Birchtree's sons and daughters were called in. They took their seats at the long table while the younger folk pulled up stools or stood. "Turns," Sam whispered. There were two empty seats saved for us on the men's side. We took them and waited while Sam's grandmother measured a small amount of blood into the cups set before her. From the smell, they already contained vinegar. She spooned the warmed up blood into them from the pot, using a soup ladle. I watched in fascination as the cups were stirred, then passed down the table to the waiting recipients.

She took a separate cup from a cabinet and, as Sam requested, did not dilute it with vinegar for me. Grateful for this special consideration, in spite of my hesitation, I would do my best not to shame my hosts. In this gathering, I had to guard my thoughts. Eyes half closed, I concentrated on building myself a mind barrier to cage in stray thoughts that might give me away. I projected that I was a musician from Los Angeles, afraid of embarrassment at my inexperience with native customs, and hesitant about this ordeal. My projection was pretty well the truth, if not all of it.

Sam said, "Mick's never sampled deer blood, but he says he'll do his best to keep up with us." The combined smells of simmering deer meat, vinegar and warm blood filled the air. I tried not to gag.

When each had their cup, the oldest man present, Sam's father, Mr. Birchtree, said, "In honor of my son's visit, we are dipping into an old tradition. In generations gone but not forgotten, our warriors and matrons drank the blood and ate the flesh of our enemies. Because of this we were given the name Mohawk, _eaters of men_. It was not what we called ourselves, but it struck terror into the hearts of our enemies and helped us win battles. We retain that name today to outsiders, but we know who we really are, the Haudenosaunee Nation of Ganeogaono." The people nodded, having heard this many times before. It was for my benefit that they recounted it. I saw sidelong glances to see how I was taking this information. I kept my expression curious, but stoic.

"Although those days are gone, we still value the gift of life. Tonight we honor and thank the spirit of this deer whose flesh and blood will strengthen us. We drink to give thanks to our ancestors as well, for their examples in times of adversity. We also drink to honor my son Sam and Mick, his friend who has joined us at this table. Let our lives be lived as the Creator directs, in accordance with his rules. May we all merit his protection and inspiration. Drink."

The family lifted their cups and swallowed the contents, but many eyes continued to stray to me, the foreigner, the White in their midst. When I sniffed at the deer blood, the children smiled, knowing this was new to me. They were ready to laugh if I begged off, but doing so would have been impolite. I can do this, I told myself. I first dipped my finger into the cup and licked away the drop of blood that clung to it. A small child tittered. "You can do better than that," Sam said with a chuckle. "If I can drink this, you can. Go ahead. Blood will make you strong."

Good grief! I thought. Shame me into it. I had been wondering what my human English ancestors would think of this form of taking bread with the Natives. Then I pictured Josef laughing at me. What was the big deal, after all?

I lifted my cup to Mrs. Birchtree and to all of them, then opened my lips to tip the cup back. When I set it down, it was empty. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and licked the remainder off my knuckles. It was hard for me to keep from laughing myself. The children broke into a pumping of their fists in the air. By their grins, I took it for a sign of approval. Some of them applauded. I had passed their test.

"Well?" asked Sam's father. "What do you think?"

"That was different," I admitted. It was actually more palatable than I imagined it would be. Shield held firmly in place, I hoped, I compared it to human blood. Stronger, more gamey, tasting from its diet I suppose. I got a fleeting memory of it being recently separated from its companions, a swift sensation of something sharp, then darkness. There was something to be said for kosher slaughtering. I didn't sense pain from the animal whose blood I drank. I went back to my analysis. No free radicals from exposure to food additives, no caffeine or drugs. Organic blood.

"Definitely different." My statement generated smiles and nods from the adults and peals of laughter from the children. The tension of the moment had finally dissipated because I did what should have come naturally. Sam asked if I wanted seconds.

"Tomorrow," I said, "if there's any left."

"I'll make sure to save you some," said Sam's grandmother. "Now, it's time for children to be put to bed. The adults have things to talk about." The children lined up for a good night hug from their grandmothers and great grandmother before their mothers took them to their rooms. I saw now that this was not the home of them all, but rather, where they met for special events.

When the room was cleared of children, only the first Mrs. Birchtree, her elder sons and daughters, Sam and I remained. "I'll tell you why I called you home now, Sam," his grandmother said. "As you know, it's past time I retired. The Turtle family has a son they want installed as head shaman of our community. They want to challenge Sam for the position."

When she paused, Sam jumped to his feet. It was the first time I saw him angry, "But _Sam_ doesn't want the position. I just want to play my drums. You know that."

"Sit down and listen to your grandmother before you speak," said his mother.

Mrs. Birchtree waited until Sam sat down. "As I was about to say," she said, "Sam is not interested and we have other people in the Birchtree family with promise. In the meanwhile, I don't want anything happening to Matthew." Everyone looked at a boy sitting at the far end of the table. He seemed about 13 or 14, very serious, and a little frightened. 'I don't say the next head shaman of this community has to come from our family. There's plenty of accumulated good sense here and in other families. If anyone doesn't put the interests of all of us first, no one is forcing them to stay."

Without looking, I knew those words affected Sam. I felt his inner turmoil. Again, it was a feeling he communicated, not words. He was agitated and worried. He raised his hand, looking at his grandmother with respect and love. "Sam?" she asked, giving him permission to speak.

"Has anyone threatened Matthew?"

"Not out loud, but I've sensed things. There have been accidents that looked like accidents, but I don't think they were. I called you here to see if you could sense more than I can, and discover where the threat is coming from. I'm getting too old to do this any more. I'm teaching Matthew, but as you know, the training goes slowly."

She left it unsaid that Sam had not wanted shaman training and had been more resistant. Had his innate gift not been so strong, I guessed he would rather have been out playing with his cousins and friends when his grandmother called him aside. "Let there be another shaman from another family, if that person puts the interests of all of us first. I don't argue with that. We should have someone in our family here for us, to advise, to look into our hearts, interpret our dreams and help us reach our goals." There were nods around the table.

A few others added what they had seen or words they had overheard. No one spoke of negative intensions outside their immediate circle, but there had been hints of traps set too close to the roads and poisoned thorns. Matthew had come close to having a hand crushed, but his friend had pulled him loose before much harm could be done.

Sam again received permission to speak. "Let me think about this some more. I'll try to listen with my inner ear, but I don't know if it will do any good. Mick is sensitive. Because he's a stranger among us, he may see and hear things differently than I would. He might catch something I miss." A few people looked at me more intently. I lowered my head, hoping they weren't seeing anything I didn't want them to see.

The family was finding it hard to stifle yawns and there was little more that could be said tonight. It was near three in the morning. "We've had a long drive. If you don't mind, I think Mick and I would like to get to bed now."

"We'll speak of this again." Sam's grandmother wished everyone a good night and the family stood up to stretch and head back to their own rooms or homes to settle down for sleep once again.

When Sam and I were alone, he let part of his guard down. It was more of a relaxation of tension. "I guess I'm here to guard Matthew until the election."

"Election? How does that work?"

"General council meeting. Anyway, you did fairly well with your block. Are you really that squeamish?" I couldn't think how to answer, but I lowered my eyes. "I didn't expect that. You have to do better than you did with your mental shield. I could have sworn you thought drinking blood was weird."

"Drinking deer blood for me _is_ weird," I said.

"Try the block again. Do it now."

I did as he said, picturing a brick wall around my brain. "Make it sound proof," Sam said, "Audio tiles on the inner walls – like in a sound studio." I did so. "Now. Think of the year you were born." I did. Sam shook his head. "Good. You made it work that time. I didn't get it."

"1922," I said, proud I had not projected. Sam exhaled sharply and shook his head. "What?" I asked him.

"You look about thirty. You and my grandmother were born the same year."

"I hadn't thought of that, but I should have. If I had lived and aged, if I was very lucky and took good care of myself, and if I watched my cholesterol, I would be getting ready to die pretty soon anyway." I rubbed my hands together. "Direct me to where the Turtle family lives. I'm going to take that walk I mentioned to you. Remember to leave your window unlocked." I went to open it.

"Don't you need your coat?"

"Not really. It's just for show. Remember? I sleep naked in a freezer. See you later." I rested on the sill for a moment, then dropped lightly into the yard. I heard Sam close the window behind me. When I looked back, he was staring into the dark, but already the shadows had swallowed me up. He couldn't see me looking back at him.


	6. Chapter 6

The Beat – Chapter 6

The Beat – Chapter 6

I didn't know what I expected to see or overhear. Chances were everyone was fast asleep and I wouldn't pick up anything. I walked in the direction Sam indicated. If the Turtles were like the Birchtrees, one of their homes belonged to the elders of the family. Subsidiary families, most likely directed by the first, inhabited the other houses in the vicinity. I hoped my appraisal was correct. Perhaps it was not the central house that was giving Mrs. Birchtree and Matthew cause for alarm. The intrigue might be coming from someone else.

I kept alongside the path where the grass was longer and the mulch softer, to hide the sound of my footsteps. A dog set to growling and barking. I flung myself up to a high branch of a tall oak tree and waited. Before someone came out to inspect or calm the dog, I growled back. The dog yipped at the perceived menace, but also hunched up in the corner of a shed, keeping a log pile protected from the rain. The dog shivered in fright, but continued to bark out the alarm.

Its owner exited a storm door, a big man in a camouflage coat. He looked around first, found his dog, and then pulled it out of the shed by its ruff. I heard him say, "What did you see? Was it a bear? What did you hear, boy? Is it still here?"

The dog sniffed the air still whining, while the man walked as silently as a man can walk. He checked the outbuildings and circled the yard, his rifle cocked and ready to fire at the first noise. I did not want to be on the wrong end of that rifle. The slug wouldn't kill me, but it would knock me out of the tree and hurt like hell. Besides. I didn't want to explain what I was doing up his tree.

The dog lifted its nose to my perch and barked again. I pressed myself against the trunk and hid my eyes with my hand. They must have been glowing. I concentrated on one thought and projected it. I hoped, if his senses allowed it through, that he would catch my suggestion and act on it. _There's nothing here, only squirrels_, I sent.

"There's nothing there," said the man, looking directly at me. "You're barking at squirrels again. Be quiet." He dragged the dog inside.

I took an unneeded breath and exhaled my relief when the door slammed behind them. As little as I wanted to be discovered, the dog had done me a favor. No one was sleeping quite so soundly any more. People were more likely to be annoyed and talking. I did not come down, but extended my hearing to pick up any voices speaking in the nearby houses. To my good fortune, I was rewarded with conversations.

"Sam's back. I saw him drive up in that fancy car. He's got a guest with him again, another white man. He's always bringing home those trashy musicians to show them the Native way of life." It was a man's voice.

"He thinks we're a living museum. What else can you expect from him? He's a bad influence to the young people."

"He ought to say down there in New York City. It's the right place for him," a woman's voice answered, probably his wife. That was the gist of that conversation.

I was about to descend when I heard another voice from another house. My tree was kind of central to all of them. Again, I mentally thanked the dog. "I'll bet his grandmother called him home. The Birchtree matriarch is ready to kick the bucket any time now. How long can an eighty-five your old hang on?" Hanging onto the tree, I wondered about that myself. As long as I need to, I told myself.

"Do you think she's going to want Sam to take over for her?

"She's wanted it for years, but he won't do it, no matter what she wants. The trouble is, he'll probably stay around to make sure Matthew is given the position."

"The old ways aren't good enough for Sam. I say good riddance when he goes back to his other Village, Greenwich Village. He's a tourist attraction himself down there, and he likes it."

"But what about the boy? What does he want?"

"The kid isn't up to the responsibility - too young and not completely trained. The old woman can't stop hoping Sam will come around. She waited too long to begin training Matthew. Besides, Jacques should be the next head shaman for all the families. He'll know what to do for all of us. He's good. They say he's so good that when animals talk to each other, he knows what they're saying."

I refreshed my mental shield, not wanting my thoughts to be overheard. I never needed such guards in Los Angles, but this place was crawling with mind-listeners. At least it seemed that way to me. One was too many, but at least Sam and his grandmother were on my side.

The couple settled down to sleep. I wondered where Jacques Turtle lived and what he might be scheming. I waited a while longer, but all I heard was snores. It seemed there was no more I could learn tonight. I lowered myself through the branches until I was low enough to drop without making a sound. It was still dark, but the moon had set and the constellations were nearly through with their cycle. Dawn would come soon when I would have to find shelter.

I slipped into Sam's window and closed the drapes. The window faced east. It would not be dark enough in the room once the sun rose. I added the sheet to Sam's curtain, wrapped myself in my coat and hid under Sam's bed pressing myself as close to his wall as I could. I hoped the shade would give me enough protection.

Before I slept, I thought about what I'd overheard. Was there actually a threat? Mrs. Birchtree seemed to think so. The council was coming up shortly now that Sam was back home. I didn't have enough information to solve a premeditated 'accident', if that is what someone was planning. Nothing had happened yet.

Sam stirred uneasily. "Mick. Are you here?" he whispered.

"Yes," I replied just as softly. He sat up and looked around, seeing nothing but darkness. The window was shaded more than normally. "Here I am." I sat beside him on the bed. "Dawn is coming," I said to explain the window. "I was under your bed to avoid it."

Sam nodded and took my arm, holding it to ascertain exactly where I was. He felt the cold of the outside on me although I didn't. "Are you all right?" he asked. I told him that I was, that no one had seen me. "What did you hear?" His voice was like the predawn breeze moving through dry leaves.

"The Turtle family wants someone named Jacques Turtle to be the next head shaman when your grandmother retires. They say you don't want the position and Matthew is still too untrained."

"They're right. So why does my grandmother feel like there is danger brewing?"

"My guess is that your grandmother will still try to foist Matthew on them. They don't trust you or anyone from your family to do what's right for this community. They want to make sure nothing stands in their way. They're afraid you'll change your mind, get voted in, and set up the reservation like a tourist attraction, like the people here are museum displays. They didn't quite say that, but that was the impression I got."

"Ah yes," Sam said. He covered his eyes and swayed like I imagined a Hindu mystic in a trance might do. "I see a gambling casino in our future, and selling nasty souvenirs to remind visitors of our dark past. Maybe we'll serve deer blood at the bar. Lots of neon lights would help; don't you think?" I looked at him to see if he was serious. "I'm joking," he said.

"Not funny, not funny at all," I said. "The sun is rising. I have to get into the dark." I moved quickly. Sam opened the window to let in the cold, then ducked down and tucked his quilt around the bottom of the bed to shield me better from any rays that might make it through the window. "Thank you," I said. "I haven't been tucked in for quite a while." He snickered, and then I was out.

It was late afternoon when my eyes opened. My cave-like shelter under the bed did not bring me the sound of Sam's heartbeat. I was alone. I spread the quilt on the bed again, and then looked for my cooler. Only two bags of blood remained. Sam had my Freeze Paks frozen again and they were doing a fine job of keeping my supplies cold. The sheet and the curtains still blocked the daylight.

I removed the sheet from the window and folded it, laying it over Sam's quilt. I dressed before I walked out the door and looked for the bathroom. One of the Birchtree relatives was nearby. He wished me a good morning with a knowing smirk. "Musician's hours?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "It is okay if I use the shower?"

"The water will be cold," he said.

"I don't mind."

Clean and dressed, I walked into the kitchen. Sam was alone in there - finishing up a big breakfast of eggs, pancakes, and meat. The cooked deer meat and been sliced and fried, then drenched with maple syrup. "My mother spoils me when I'm home." He looked up at me. "Anything I can get you?"

I looked around and listened to make sure no one was around. "Yes. There is something. I'll get it myself." I looked for the refrigerator and found it. The deer blood was in a jelly jar. I sniffed it, then held it against the afternoon light to see if there was any separation. I twirled the blood a little to mix it and drank from the jar. "I was really thirsty." I wiped my mouth and licked my knuckles clean. "It's actually pretty good. No preservatives. What did I miss while I was sleeping?"

"The council meeting is tonight. After I wash the dishes, let's poke around and see if we can find out what people are saying in the daylight."


	7. Chapter 7

The Beat – Chapter 7

The Beat – Chapter 7

We found Sam's grandmother behind the house, sitting at a picnic table with Sam's mother and what I took to be her daughters. When she saw us, she looked up and gave us a welcoming nod. "Bring Mick over here to us, Sam," she said.

Mrs. Birchtree was dressed in a dark hide dress with beads worked into designs on the shoulders, and moccasins laced nearly to her knees. A fancy fringed and beaded purse hung by straps looped over her arm and a fan hung at her belt. The women were sitting in the direct sunlight. I was glad I was wearing my sunglasses. Most of them were wearing current forms of clothing. Last night, when they welcomed us, Mrs. Birchtree and the others had been in nightgowns and robes and slippers.

Sam walked up to his mother, aunts and grandmother. I came closer, but remained mostly in the house's shade. "Good afternoon," I said. I lowered my head and touched my cap brim to Mrs. Birchtree, the others, and then back to Mrs. Birchtree.

"You're probably wondering why I'm dressed like this," she said. I admitted that I was. "It's called regalia. I'm dressed in the manner of our ancestors before your people, the English, came over to change us and take our land." My people actually were English a few centuries back. I wondered if she picked that up from my mind or the fact that I have a different people now.

"Sorry about that," I said, as if I was personally responsible for the loss of her people's land.

She smiled a little. "I'm not blaming you for what happened in the past. That was several centuries ago. I doubt if you were around yet."

"I wasn't." Had she been talking to my four centuries-old friend Josef, she couldn't have accurately said what she did. He _had_ been around then, even if his people weren't English. They were busy with their own wars, not squabbling over territory in the New World. Josef still liked to call it that.

"There's going to be a meeting of the heads of the families in the ceremonial longhouse this evening, together with those candidates who show promise to take over as head shaman here in our village. The younger folks are clearing the longhouse out now, airing it and sprinkling sweet pine needles on the floor. The head women will light the central fire at sundown. I expect you to attend, as Sam's guest. He says you are sensitive to certain emotions, and that you can tell when someone is being false. I hope you will share your impressions with us."

I mentally thanked her for her restraint in not saying more in front of the others. "My gift in reading people is small besides yours and Sam's. I can't hear thoughts."

"Neither can I if they're blocking me. If we have enemies planning harm to Matthew or to any of us, they will know how to shield their thoughts from us. I doubt, however, if they can hide their emotions from you."

"I'll do what I can to protect you and your family," I promised. I owed them for their hospitality and their acceptance. I don't know exactly what Mrs. Birchtree knew about me, but I had been made to feel welcome and safe in her house, even if it was only for Sam's sake.

"I'm aware that our problems are not yours. You'll be leaving us to go home to your own life soon. I'm heading over to Matthew's house now to be sure he's prepared for later. Will you and Sam be good enough to come with us?"

It wasn't really a question. "Of course."

She told her daughters she would see them later and the women disbursed. Sam and I followed after Mrs. Birchtree and her granddaughter, Matthew's mother. She opened the front door and the four of us walked inside.

Matthew was waiting for his great grandmother in the kitchen, nursing a cold cup of coffee. He rose when he saw us. "I'm not ready," he said, gesturing with one hand to his clothing. "I planned to put on my regalia before the ceremony."

"I'm glad to know you planned to change," she said. "Ceremonies require ceremonial clothing."

Sam said, "I'm not dressed for it myself, but considering my secondary role, just backing up my cousin, I'm as dressed as I'm gonna get." He was wearing jeans, a dark flannel shirt, and hiking boots.

I felt disapproval and resignation roll off his grandmother at Sam's attitude, but she did not comment. Instead, she pulled up a kitchen chair and sat down beside her great grandson. "I'm not going to insist on anything for you," she told Matthew. "You're young yet, unpracticed and without experience. If the Turtles put up Jacques, I'll accept him. I have no doubt you would have been better then him in a few years, but excluding Sam, Jacques is the best we have for now. Sam will be leaving us again. He has his own life to lead, in a different place."

Sam accepted her praise with mixed feelings, but her last sentence set him on edge. Although he worked to calm his heartbeat and slow his breathing, he couldn't control his sweaty palms. I smelled his agitation. That was the kind of sensitivity Mrs. Birchtree was looking for from me, the Vampire lie detector. Agitation or excitement – they both had the same effect on vital signs. Without knowing the provocation of anyone who attended the council meeting, I couldn't be sure of the reason for the response. I did not yet know how I could be of help.

"Mick went out last night," Sam said. Matthew and Mrs. Birchtree gave me their complete attention. "Tell them what you told me."

This is why I had gone out. "I overheard a few people talking," I said.

"Where were you?" asked Mrs. Birchtree.

"High up in an oak tree in the Turtle neighborhood. I was safer there than waiting on the ground for them to come out and find me." Mrs. Birchtree mentioned hearing the dog barking.

"Yes, but he did me a favor. The talk from the Turtle families is that Jacques Turtle should be the next high shaman because Matthew is not yet qualified. People resent Sam for his new ideas and they don't like to see him here. They're afraid he'll change his mind and want to take over. They won't follow him into new ways."

"How did you hear them and have them not see you?" Matthew asked. "Did they come outside in the middle of the night?"

How could I answer him without telling him more than I wanted him to know? Sam and his grandmother wouldn't have questioned me. "They didn't see me because I didn't want them to. They were inside their houses. I have good hearing."

Matthew looked directly at me, his thoughts working furiously in his expressive face. His eyes blinked fast as he searched me for thoughts. I didn't try to hide them. He shook his head, not believing or accepting what was coming to him. "You aren't human, are you?" he asked with a gasp. His mother turned to me with an open mouth and her heart rate began to climb.

"What do you mean, he's not human?"

"He's my friend, man," Sam said. "Leave him alone." I felt Sam's confusion at his cousin's question coupled with his desire to protect me. I should have known better to come into this house, but here I was. I had to decide how to reply, and how to deal with the repercussions of what I might say.

Mrs. Birchtree took a cleansing breath and clenched her hands into fists. She released them before she turned to face me. With Matthew, his mother and grandmother all waiting for my response, if I had a beating heart, it would have sped up. I looked back to Matthew, hesitating, unsure what to do or say.

Before I could speak, Matthew continued boldly. "You're old, but you look hardly any older than Sam. There's more to you than what you show us on the surface. You're dangerous. Why are you here? What do you want with us?"

He tried not to flinch, but I felt his fear building. It was the fear of a rabbit with no escape, snarling defiance at a wolf. Although I had no vital signs to lower, I'm pretty sure my skin paled, and I fought to keep from vamping. My basic nature played havoc with my control. By force of will, I retained my human appearance. There was no need to frighten Matthew more. Having won control of my inner monster, I said, "I'm here because Sam asked me to come. He thought my help might be needed."

"He's my guest, Matthew. You can't threaten him. He is a Protector," said Mrs. Birchtree. "Calm yourself."

I did not take my eyes off Matthew. "Some call me Protector," I said. "Some call me by a different name."

"Demon?"

"Sometimes."

"You have no call for fear, Matthew," Mrs. Birchtree said. "I searched Mick's soul when he arrived last night." Her calm was spreading to the rest of us, even to Matthew. "He won't harm us."

Backing up her words and hoping for the best, I said, "I will not harm anyone in your family, for Sam's sake as well as Mrs. Birchtree's. I'm at your family's service for the remainder of my visit. Believe that, Matthew."

The youth was still looking at me uncertainly, trying to judge the sincerity of my words when we heard a loud noise, like a clap of thunder. There were shouts of shock, surprise and outrage. I was first out the door, running from Matthew's house towards the sound of the noise. We ran in the direction of Mrs. Birchtree's house and stopped short at the horrible sight. There had been an explosion. Half the house had caved in and flames were shooting from the remaining windows. An hour ago, I was in the shower. The women, Sam and I would be been engulfed in flames.

I ran at half the speed I was capable of, searching to find the footprints and scents of whoever had set the blast. I stopped in the remains of Sam's room only long enough to see the remains of my cooler, its contents splashed and absorbed into the wooden floor. The refrigerator was on its side, bent and molten. I had no blood left.

I couldn't tell the scent of one human from another here, other than those I had met, but I caught the stench of fear. It was not fear of the blast, but the fear of being discovered, nervous and angry rather than shocked. I followed the scent until I found two sets of footprints running back in the direction of the Turtle homes.

Sam followed me as best he could, while Mrs. Birchtree stood like an old and gnarled tree, gazing at the destruction of her home and that of Sam's parents. Her many offspring surrounded her, offering her comfort and love. Her sons and grandsons ran for water to quench the fire before it spread.

"There were two of them," I called to Sam. "Young men, younger than you. They used explosives. Who could hate your grandmother that much?"

"She wasn't in the house. I think they knew that and they were trying to kill me," he said. "They thought I was the only one who could block their plan."

I followed their smell, analyzing it further as I covered ground. The slightly sweet smell of gasoline clung to them. Whatever explosive they used, they had tried to accelerate its effects. I didn't want to think my personal problems. Fortunately, I had fed recently. For now, I had to find who had done this and help my new friends figure out the why's and how's.

I put on a burst of speed leaving Sam in the dust, when I saw two young men pausing to catch a breath. "You!" I shouted. They saw me and ran, but they could not outrun me. I leapt ahead and had them both immobilized when Sam caught up to us. "Help me get them back to the town. I think they need to explain themselves," I said.


	8. Chapter 8

The Best – Chapter 8

The Beat – Chapter 8

When we returned, the community was in an uproar of accusations. Turtle family members were mixed in with Birchtree people, and the Wolf family was trying to figure what was what? The fire was out, but tempers were flaring. Sam and I deposited our captives before them. The two looked up into the troubled faces of their elders and cast their eyes down again. Several of the older people were wearing regalia like Sam's grandmother, for the council meeting. Although it had to be postponed, something of the sort was about to take place. Mrs. Birchtree and Sam's parents sat together at the singed picnic table, comforting each other over the loss of their home.

Mrs. Birchtree waited until Sam and I backed away from the two on the ground. She pointed at them with her cane. "How could you?" she asked them. Instead of replying, both looked both miserable and ashamed. They had failed to kill Sam and they had been caught. Was that the reason for their shame, or was it for what they had done? Someone approached them. He kicked out, his foot hitting one of the captives squarely in the chest. The young man cried out at the shock of the impact, but made no move to defend himself.

"Terrance, move aside," said an elderly woman. "He's your son, but he's put our whole family to shame. It's up to me to reprimand him." The man named Terrance backed away from her, back into the circle of his family. The old woman approached the captives. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" she asked.

"Grandmother," one said softly and with a great deal of sorrow. "I did it for us. No one was supposed to be hurt, except for Sam. He doesn't belong here anyway. He shouldn't matter."

"That's not acceptable," said Mrs. Turtle. "You will answer me as honestly as you can. Was this your idea, Walter? Or was it yours, Pete?" It was odd hearing the names of these community terrorists for the first time - such ordinary names.

The men on the ground looked to each other for support. Pete must have been elected spokesman by some communication between them. "The idea came to us during the night. Since the only thing standing in Jacques' way was Sam, we had to get rid of him. My father had some dynamite left from his mine work a few years ago, and we always keep gasoline on hand."

"So you thought it was all right to kill Sam, and to destroy a family's house to further Jacques' ambitions? Did he put you up to this? Is this the way we raised you? What has Sam ever done to you?"

He only answered the last question, although the others were more important. "It's because of Sam's ways. He doesn't care about us."

"You don't know what's in his mind. Only Jacques could have known that. If Sam came back at his grandmother's request, he was showing more respect for our traditions than either of you. The election was to be between Matthew and Jacques, and it was for the elders to decide. Sam never asked for the position. Tell me, Pete, since when is there honor in cheating?"

He lowered his head again. "Sam would have interfered."

"And you know this because you heard his thoughts?" Pete looked as if he preferred to sink into the ground rather than answer. Obviously, he had no such talent. "Why does it matter to you who is head shaman?" the old woman persisted.

"For the honor to our family."

The elder Mrs. Turtle said, "Pete and Walter, your actions have disgraced your family. At least you were lucky enough that you didn't kill anyone. There was no one in the house." She raised her voice, looking to Sam's grandmother to make sure she had her attention. "My grandsons haven't been in their right heads for some time, but they'll be punished for the damage they caused and for attempted murder. We'll share our supplies with you while your house is being rebuilt."

"There's more that needs to be settled for justice to be served," Sam said. For the first time everyone looked at him. No one interrupted him as they had when he spoke out of turn last night. I could easily see him holding a position of authority within the community, if he wanted it. They were willing to let him take command of the conversation. "Where is Jacques? He should be here."

Mrs. Turtle sent her sons to look for Jacques. A few minutes passed before one of them returned. "He left a note," said the retuning son. He handed it to his grandmother. There was enough light left in the dusky sky to read the writing. She read it silently, and then looked to her waiting audience. "Jacques says he's going to spend the night alone in the forest. He said he hoped a vision might come to him concerning the accident."

Dynamite and accelerant didn't sound like an accident to me. Maybe the accident was that the perpetrators had been caught, if he'd sent them. "When did he leave?" asked Mrs. Turtle.

Someone said his car was still here when he ran out to see what happened. I took a better look before I recognized the speaker as the husky man with the dog from last night. His shaggy dog trotted up to me, the stranger amongst them, sniffing and curious. As soon as he caught my scent, he retreated with a whine, his tail held low between his legs. It's hard to fool a dog. They know predators.

"You're scaring my dog," the man said to me accusingly. "He's usually not scared of anything, except for bears." I raised my hands and shrugged, the universal gesture of innocence. No one spoke until he led his dog away.

"Well. It's too late for a council meeting now," Mrs. Turtle said. "Can everyone agree to meeting at the Longhouse tomorrow morning at 10:00?"

The main participants called out their acceptance. I turned to Sam, thinking that I would probably have to miss it. He lifted his palms as if to say the decision was out of his hands. The other family heads agreed, and his opinion had not been sought. The sky was black by then. It was a clear night with stars shining between the skeletal trees and half a moon riding low above the eastern horizon. People began to walk away.

Sam said, "My mom and dad are going to sleep with my grandmother in the longhouse tonight. Matthew's folks are bringing them sleeping things and blankets. They'll be guarded all night to keep them safe."

"All your grandmother has left is the clothing she was wearing," I said. I felt sad for her loss. "What a shame about her house."

"My grandfather built that house and I was born there. As for my grandmother's dress, it was the most important clothing she owned. She's glad she saved it from the fire." I could understand that.

"Will you stand guard too?" I asked him.

"No." He gave me a faint smile someone else might have missed in the dark. "Do you remember when we began our trip up here, when I told you we might do some night hunting before we reached the reservation?"

I couldn't hear Sam's thoughts, but I guessed what he was thinking. "I do."

"Now would be a good night for it. Are you coming?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

I helped Sam load his car. "Your cooler?" Sam asked. He had not been into the remains of his smoldering house. I knew what he meant.

"Smashed. So were the jars in the refrigerator. Everything's gone."

"I see," Sam said. "Then, we have a double reason for hunting," Sam said.

I don't know how Sam maneuvered his car though the blackness his human eyes could barely see. He must have had the way memorized. We came to the western road leading out of the reservation. The road was so narrow, only one car could transverse it at a time. Sam drove at a fairly fast rate for a while before he slowed. "We're coming up to a fork in the road," he said. "Tell me which way he went."

A car could not have come from the east or we would have had to pull over to let it by. Jacques couldn't have driven into the woods; the trees were too close. I would have seen broken twigs in the brambles and the dry brush on either side if he'd attempted to hide his car and gone in on foot.

I opened the window. We had reached paved road. The tire tracks were too faint even for my eyes here, but I sniffed the smell of exhaust. It was the car we were trailing, not the man. "To the right. Keep going," I said. Another few minutes went by. I directed Sam until we came up to the old, dark blue Chevy parked halfway into the brambles. Summer leaves might have helped to hide the car, but spring had not yet reached this part of Canada. I could see the broken branches where the paler pulp showed under the scraped bark.

"So he got out here," Sam said. He pulled over as well and we exited his car. "Guide me," he said. Moonlight reflected off the bits of quartz his feet had turned up, showing me his direction. The quartz didn't sparkle as it might have under sunlight, but it was enough. The other would have hurt my eyes. Every scraped twig showed itself like a beacon to my enhanced vision. Suddenly, I lost the trail. I stopped and spun, looking around, rubbing my eyes and sniffing, but there was no trail left to follow. "I don't sense anything," I said. "It's like he disappeared."

Sam looked above us. I followed the direction of his eyes, but there was nothing in the trees. "How did he disappear?" I asked. "We had him a minute ago."

"He's using shaman powers," Sam said. "I haven't been cultivating mine, because I didn't think I would need them. Obviously, he has. He doesn't want us to find him. He's throwing us off with mind tricks."

I walked the area, head down, looking for signs. I hated to let Jacques escape. He might have been responsible for the loss of Sam's home, where his parents and Mrs. Birchtree lived. True, we had no definite proof that he had set Pete and Walter on their destructive path. If we couldn't question Jacques and he kept on going, the chances were we'd never learn if he was guilty of putting the idea into their minds.

Whether we found him or not, I would not be attending the ten o'clock meeting at the longhouse. I could stand the sun if I had to, but without feeding, I could become too dangerous. I didn't trust myself. Sam, Matthew and his grandmother would have to do the best they could without me.

Even if Jacques returned to the village on his own, I would not be there to help Matthew. Jacques was a powerful shaman, powerful enough to obstruct my vampire senses and Sam's shaman abilities. Maybe he was exactly what the people needed, if he wasn't guilty of attempted murder.

There was a loud sound with echoing reverberations. Thunder. "Great," I said. I had felt the wind pick up, but in our chase, I had not noticed the clouds moving swiftly to cover the night sky. The moon and the starlight were cut off and the air smelled of the coming storm. "It will rain soon," I said. "If he's moving at all, his footprints are going to be washed away. What can we do?" I shouldn't have had to ask, but Sam knew better than I about the tricks Jacques might be playing on us. I couldn't believe he had sent for the rain. That would have been too much.

Sam stood still, eyes shut and arms stretched out. I guessed he was reaching out with his mind. "He could be a few feet away, but I can't feel him. I have no doubt he's blocking me. He knows we're here. If he were innocent, he would have shown himself. Let's go back to my car and wait for him to show up. He can't outrun us without his car. He'll be banking on us giving up and going back without him."

We took the straightest path back to Sam's car. The Chevy was empty when the rain began. "I can disable his car," I offered. Sam smiled and nodded. It didn't take me long to disconnect the wires. Unless Jacques planned to cross the forest and continue to elude us on foot, he wasn't going anywhere. If Sam was alone, he might try to take it instead of his own; but I would not let that happen.

In the dark of the storm, the lightning seemed all the brighter. Sam dozed through the pounding rain. I stretched out my feet, alert and watching, but nothing came near the Chevy. The hours passed. I could feel the movement of the sun behind the clouds.

"What?" Sam asked. He was suddenly awake.

"Sunrise is near," I said. Sam looked at me, worried. "The cloud cover will protect me somewhat, but since my supplies were destroyed in the fire, I could put others in danger. It's better for me to go away, find someplace to sleep in the forest."

To my surprise, Sam opened his door. "I'll be back," he said. He looked over to Jacques' car, peered in the windows, then walked a bit into the forest. When he returned, he said. "I still can't feel him. Either he walked clear through and he's hitching a ride on the next road, or he's still waiting for us to give up and return to the village without him." His logic was fine. I couldn't debate it. "If Jacques is hiding anywhere in the forest, there's only one way I can think to break through to him."

His words were fading. Hadn't he heard me? It was dawn. All I could think about was blood. I needed it. I would be near to helpless and very dangerous if I didn't get some. Perhaps I could find a deer or something to assuage my growing thirst in the forest. Then, I wanted to escape to darkness. That was the nature of my species. Give us what we need and we could be as civilized as you like. Deny it and take your chances. I was like a heroin addict needing his next fix. I felt the exhaustion and the pain of my growing need and I hated it. "What did you say?" I asked, but my mind was hardly focused on what would help Sam.

"Listen to me," Sam said, insistent. He held onto my arm like he was afraid I might run. No doubt he knew I was thinking about it. I did not want to harm Sam in any way. "Stay here with me, Mick. It's all right."

"What's all right?"

"What you want to do." Of course, he knew what I wanted. Why wasn't he trying to escape? How long did he think I could hold out? "Think back, Mick," Sam said. "What's the first thing you thought when you saw me standing outside the Vanguard? The beat of my drum was fading from your mind. You saw me leaning against the wall. I offered you a drag, but you were wondering about something else. Do you remember what you were thinking?"

"You were listening to me even then?" I couldn't be angry. I wanted him then and I wanted him now.

Sam took off his jacket, and to my additional shock, he pulled off his shirt. "Do it, Mick. Do it now. I'll know how to stop you before you take too much."

I could no longer fight myself. The sun and my nature were teaming up against my weak resistance and he was so willing. "Don't let me kill you," I begged.

"I won't." I took Sam into an embrace from which there was no escape, but he didn't struggle. He leaned closer to me. I felt the muscles under his skin. He was strong for a human, but that was nothing to me. He remained calm. He touched my hair, cradled my head. Then he angled his neck to give me greater access to his artery. I smelled his desire and his blood and I wanted them both. "I don't want to hurt you. You're my friend."

"Yes," he said. "And you're mine."

My eyes frosted over, my canines lengthened. I couldn't escape my own desires, but Sam had given me permission. My fangs broke through his skin. His blood flowed and I drank. My joy and relief were enormous. Sam's goodness penetrated my consciousness no less than my teeth penetrated his skin. I tasted his life. How had I come to love this man in these last few days? I didn't know, but it was there.

His blood was wonderful, thrilling and satisfying, but his mind spoke to me, even as I drank. _The Creator sent you to us. You won't harm me._ I hoped it was true, even as I swallowed the goodness that was Sam.

I couldn't speak, but I thought to him. _Tell me when to stop_, I sent. I didn't draw on his wound; I just let his heart give me what I needed at its own pace. I felt Sam's feelings, his happiness and his elation at our closeness. _Don't let me kill you_, I begged. _Please, don't let me._

_Stop, Mick. That's enough. _He hadn't said it aloud, yet I heard him. It was part of the communion we shared. I pressed my tongue to his wounds to try to stop the bleeding. When I drew back, I listened for Sam's heart rate. It was strong but slow, as if he were in deep slumber. He leaned back against the seat, his eyes half closed. I was so afraid I had taken too much. "Please, don't die. I couldn't bear it," I whispered. That was why I would no longer feed fresh. I had killed too often when I had not intended to. I continued to try to stop Sam's bleeding, pressing on his wound, begging him to live.

He didn't speak aloud. _I won't die, Mick, not today_. Again, I heard the words he hadn't said. Although we had separated, we were connected in another way. His blood in my veins spoke to me. It told me he felt weak, and that he needed to be strong again to do what was necessary. "What can I do?" I whispered

His blood answered my question for him, and then I knew. Sam had a jackknife in his glove compartment. I took it out, opened it and removed my shirt. I made a small, shallow cut in my chest and brought him to me, setting his mouth against my wound. I didn't want to turn him. I pleaded with the Creator or any deity who might hear. _Please don't let me be turning him._ Sam drank. It was an amazing sensation to feel his lips drawing against my skin. I felt part my strength flow into him, but I had more than enough for the both of us.

When he pulled back, he smiled to set me at ease. "No, Mick. You didn't kill me and you didn't turn me. You lent me some of your strength and your abilities. They'll last only until we accomplish what we must. Thank you."

I wanted to laugh. "You're thanking me? I might have killed you."

"I'm fine, better than ever. With both our powers enhanced, you'll be able to endure the morning sun. We'll be able break through Jacques' mental block together and set things right for the families. I knew there was a reason I needed to bring you to the reservation." He opened the car door. "Now, let's go find Jacques."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The sun was bright. Birds were singing – not the best time of day for one of my kind. Raindrops clung to the bare branches, reflecting diamonds of color over the awakening forest. The light was intense, so why was it not hurting me? I put on my sunglasses out of habit, but I didn't need them.

Sam walked a small ways into the forest as he had earlier and stretched out his arms. Morning devotions, I guessed, from what I felt from him, then a spreading of his senses. When he returned, he was nodding at his success. "Jacques spent the night in a cave." Sam began to enter the forest. "I know where he is."

"Wait," I said. "I disabled his car. When he finds he can't start it, he'll take yours. One of us has to stay behind to guard it."

"Then we'll both stay here and wait for him. I have a better idea. I should have thought of this last night. I'll make him come to us." I was about to ask how that was going to happen, but then I got it. I could endure the sun because of his blood, and his powers had increased because of mine. He had known this would happen, that it was the only way for us to locate Jacques and bring him home for questioning.

He opened his trunk and found what he wanted. When he closed it, he had two wooden tent stakes held tight in his fists. My body thought for me and I pulled back. I saw Sam smile and shake his head. "Mick. Come on. I would as soon drive a stake into my own heart as yours," he whispered. I sighed at my paranoia.

"Sorry, Sam. Old habits are hard to shake," I said.

Sam approached the fender of the Chevy and began to tap out a beat with the stakes, using them like drum sticks. The sound was metallic, but the hollow fender amplified the vibration. It was the music that had mesmerized me that night outside the Vanguard, the beat of Sam's calling spell to bring someone he needed to him_. _

He began to add words. As before, I didn't understand the language, which I assume was Mohawk, but Sam's meaning came through. I sensed they were not quite the same words he used when he called to me on Tuesday night. This was Saturday morning. Had I known Sam less than four days? It seemed longer.

He was telling Jacques to come to us and prove his innocence if he could. Either that, or run and prove the opposite. He might not be able to see into Jacques' soul, but that was not his job. Bringing him back was. The sound spread across the patch of forest, calling Jacques to us. I wondered if Jacques was strong enough to resist Sam's call when he had my strength to call upon as well as his own?

The man who walked out of the forest was small in comparison to me or to Sam, about five and a half feet tall. He looked about 40 years of age, so in appearance he seemed older than me. His dark hair was plaited into one long braid that hung behind him. He was compact, muscular and sure of himself. He had strong features and a handsome face. Intelligence and suspicion were evident in his gaze.

"Did you think this was necessary, Sam?" he asked. He looked over to my friend and seemed to grasp that there had been an essential change in him. "I would have gone home anyway. In last night's commotion, no one could think rationally. They were all too ready to blame me. I needed to be alone to hear the spirits."

"Of course," Sam said. He was not about to debate him. He turned to me and said, "Mick, Would you be kind enough to reconnect the wires in Jacques' transmission?" I went to do as he bade me, blocking my thoughts from Jacques' probing. I don't know what he picked out of my brain before this morning, but as of this point, he was butting his head against a stone wall, sealed on the inside with sound proof tiles. He could not eavesdrop on my thoughts. Only Sam could do that. He and I felt each other's feelings and heard each other's thoughts. I thought of Vulcan mind-melds and felt a crooked smile pass my lips. I guess I watched too much television in the '80s. I loved futuristic science fiction. It was fun imagining a universe filled with spectacular advances and cooperation across the cosmos. With luck, if that future ever came, I'd be around to see it.

When I was done, Sam said, "Jacques, please follow me home. The council will take place at 10:00 this morning. I assume you will want to change. Mick, please sit beside Jacques and make sure he remembers the way. I'll go first."

Jacques looked at me curiously. "You're not what you seem," he said.

"I've been told that before," I responded. "Shall we go?"

Sam drove in front and we followed. When we reached the parking place before the ruins of Sam's house, Sam pulled in. Jacques continued down the road a while until he came to his own place. His relatives came out to greet him, including Mrs. Turtle. They said little in my hearing. I departed his car and was soon walking back into Birchtree territory, looking for someone to tell me where to find Sam.

"You're up early for a musician," a man said.

"I was invited to the council. I don't want to miss it," I replied. "Do you know where I can find Sam?"

"He went to talk to the Birchtree elders in their houses. He could be anywhere."

"I'll make you breakfast if you're hungry," a woman offered. "There's eggs and bread. I have coffee keeping warm on the stove if you'd like some."

"Thank you, but I had breakfast earlier," I said. "Please, I'd like to know the best place to wait for Sam."

"The longhouse," she said. "He'll go there when he's ready. It's right up the path." She pointed. I wondered if I'd recognize the longhouse when I found it. I pictured something like a photograph I had seen in my third grade history book in 1930. The structure was fashioned of willow and birch saplings tied together in the shape of a Quonset hut and covered with bark. That's what prehistoric Mohawk longhouses looked like, but there was no reason to assume they still looked that way. This was 2008.

The path led me up a small hill and straight to a long building with brown shingles. It had a row of windows and a chimney. Before the door, I saw Pete and Walter tied with their hands behind their backs to poles. From their faces and the look of their clothing, they had been there all night, through the storm. Mohawk justice, I assumed. It was not my business to interfere.

I knocked. To my surprise, Mrs. Birchtree opened the door, still wearing her night clothing with a warm robe tied around her middle. It must have been one of her daughters'. Seeing me, she opened the door wider and invited me inside.

"Come in and sit down, Mick," she said, bringing me to a bench. "I'll be leaving shortly for one of my daughter's houses. It's where I left my regalia. I wanted to sleep here last night. Sometimes our ancestors send us dreams, and their influence is strongest right here." She gestured to the room with its many chairs and benches. There were three cots before the fireplace.

I nodded to say I was following, so she went on. "The men will come soon to collect the cots. They'll be putting out the burning coals in the fireplace shortly. The clan mothers will relight it for the ceremony. Your supplies were burned in my house. Is there anything you need? Anything at all?"

"Not now," I said. I was sure I could manage to last until I got back to Los Angeles, thanks to Sam. After the meeting, I'd have him drive me to the airport. I didn't like to fly in daylight, but I could book my flight and wait until boarding in the shade of the terminal. I thought of my requirements for darkness and blood, but I felt strong enough to keep them at bay for the present. They would not overcome me again.

Mrs. Birchtree said. "There is more blood."

I had forgotten to shield my thoughts. She knew what I was thinking. "Good," I said. "I'll be grateful for it later. Knowing what you do about me, you are not concerned about my presence. That means a lot."

"You're here for us. I believed you yesterday when you said you would not harm any of my family, and by extension, anyone in this community. Therefore, you are safe from us. Now that you've met Jacques, what was your impression?"

It took me a moment to catch up with her. Her mind was quick for an 85-year-old. I had to smile. Then, I thought back to the shaman. "I don't trust him. I wish Matthew were strong enough to face him, and maybe get a glimpse into his intentions. He came with us peacefully, claiming his innocence. Whether he put his two cousins up to bombing your house, I don't know. I just don't think he puts the community first. I would not like to see him in a position of authority."

"Thank you." Mrs. Birchtree regarded me fully and carefully. "I value your opinion. There's something different about you today. I won't pry into what happened between you and Sam. I saw him for a short while earlier. He seems well and happy, more sure of himself. Will you allow me to take your hand, Mick?"

I reached my right hand out to her. She took it into both of hers and held it for a moment without speaking. I had to ask her. "Why?"

"It helps me hear you. Trust me. I mean you no harm." She compared both her small hands and mine, hers wrinkled and aged, mine smooth and supple. "It's amazing isn't it?" she asked. "You and I?"

So she knew. I didn't have to think of the year I was born. She just knew. "Yes," I agreed. "It is amazing."

"Mick," she said. "You'll be gone from us shortly. This is the last chance we'll have to speak alone. Sam told you about dreams. Often they are messages from our ancestors or hints of the future. I dreamed about you last night. Will you listen?"

My hand was still in hers. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what her dreams told her about me, but maybe there was something I needed to hear. I came with Sam because the two people I loved most in the world had shut me out. Just possibly, there was something more for me to learn. "I'll listen."

"I'm not a fortune teller. I won't guess at the meaning of this or ask for anything in return. There were quick pictures and impressions. All say for sure is that in my dream, I saw you eat a donut. What could that mean?"

"A donut?" I smiled. "The last time I ate a donut, it was 1952. It's impossible. People like me, we don't eat donuts or anything else."

"I don't know what it could have meant then. Do you dream, Mick?"

"Not for a very long time," I said. "Not since I became what you call a Protector. It's good I have you and Sam to dream for me."

"Even if my dream meant nothing, I'm going to tell you my impressions of your future, if you'll allow me." I nodded. I found I wanted to know her thoughts, whether or not they would come true. "You will have at least one more great loss to endure, shortly after you return." _Coraline_, I thought. She was in the hospital.

"There will be a murder. You will be powerless to prevent it." Not Beth or Josef. Not Sam! I thought.

"It won't be someone you love, but that death will have consequences. You will avenge the victim. In the end, your patience will bring you closer to someone else, someone of great important to you." _Beth_? I wondered. "That's all." I thanked her for sharing her thoughts. "It must be lonely being a Protector," she said. "You live for others but seldom for yourself."

I liked her word for me far better than the other. No monster connotations. "My existence can be very lonely, but sometimes, there are compensations. I was thinking of Sam. "I'll be all right if you want to get changed for the ceremony. I'll just close my eyes and rest here in the shade until you and Sam and the others come."

She let go of my hand, nodded to me and walked out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

The Beat - Chapter 10

Mrs. Birchtree said this was the place for it. Perhaps my visions were only imagined, not dreamed. I don't know, but perhaps I could dream again the same way I could tolerate the morning sun. It was temporary; I knew that.

In my vision, I glimpsed the scene outside the longhouse window. It was a hot summer day. The well-paved road was black beside the green grass. Inside, air conditioning bathed the room with refreshing coolness.

I saw Sam in the future, no longer 25 but about 40. His wife stood at his side, there were five children, and everyone looked content. It was a possible future for him and his decision to make, his choice. Although I had never wanted to create another Vampire, Sam would have been different. Humans on Vampire blood usually get high on the sensations. Controlling himself is the first thing a shaman learns. Sam knew he could handle it. If he asked, I would have been proud to sire him.

A knock on the door startled me into wakefulness. My watch read 9:30. It was a cool, cloudy day in January. Nothing had changed. Three men came inside the longhouse. "Mrs. Birchtree said you would be here. Sorry to disturb you," said one as respectfully as he might speak to an elder. "We came for the cots and to put out the fire. The ceremony will begin soon."

"I'll wait outside then," I said. Clouds still covered the sky. The brief appearance of the morning sun had not lasted long. I saw that Pete and Walter had been taken down and brought away to recover. I wondered what their families would do to them. Next, I saw people walking up the hill to the longhouse. There must have been well over 500 people. They couldn't all fit. Fewer than two-dozen of them wore regalia. I supposed those were the principal players and the others would wait in the back or outside for their decision to be announced. I had no place on the inside, except that Sam wanted me there.

The principals filed in. I was looking for Sam, but did not see him in his familiar jeans and jacket. "Mick?" I turned at the voice behind me and smiled at the surprise. Sam wore a breechclout over leggings and knee-high moccasins. He wore a long-sleeved hide shirt with an open vest over it. Both had fringes and quillwork decorations. Strands of beads hung down his chest. A carved ivory bear descended from one of the necklaces. "Bear Clan," he said when he saw where I stared. "The Birchtrees are Bear Clan."

He could have walked out of a painting. His long hair was shining and brushed forward just enough to cover the twin marks on his throat below his left ear. "What?" I asked. "No war paint? No Mohawk scalp-lock?"

"I never claimed to be a warrior," he said. _I just battle for truth, justice, and the Mohawk way._ He did not say that out loud, but I heard it as easily as if he had. I pressed my lips to keep my serious expression. "Shamans don't shave their heads," he said in response to my spoken question. He gestured to his clothing and grinned. "I dressed the part for my grandmother and for Matthew. I'm not the lead performer today, just backup. Come on in."

The younger men and woman permitted inside took chairs in the back or lined the walls standing while the elders took benches. When all was still, three elderly women came in. Each was holding a metal pail by its handle. I smelled the burning coals on the inside. Younger women had laid out the logs in a pyramid shape, with tinder at the sides and shreds of paper. The older women, including Mrs. Birchtree, shoveled their hot coals into strategic places around the logs. They fanned the fire with their decorative fans, chanting in unison while it caught. Based on the respectful way everyone stood, I assumed they offered a prayer for guidance. It's what I would have asked for.

I was already standing on one side, glad just to be there. I didn't understand the words, but that was all right. When they were done, Matthew and Jacques walked up to the open door together. Matthew stood aside to let Jacques walk in first. Respect for age again. Matthew seemed surer of himself. I wondered what Sam or Mrs. Birchtree had said to prepare him. They each took a seat in the center of the semi-circle of elders in the front of the room.

Sam left his place to get me. "Come." He walked me to his chair and motioned for me to sit. I was his guest and his elder, although by how much, no one beside Mrs. Birchtree and possibly Matthew knew. He stood behind me resting his hands on my shoulders. At the contact, I felt like we were two currents of electricity joined into one. Increased individually, our powers had joined together and were amplified.

Pete and Walter were led inside and seated to Jacques' right. The elders took turns asking them questions similar to the ones asked yesterday. They insisted they had thought of the dynamite themselves. Jacques had not influenced them. They said they accepted their punishment, repented, and would try to made amends by rebuilding Mrs. Birchtree's house better than ever.

"Jacques," said an old man. "You wanted to become head shaman here after Mrs. Birchtree retires. Please tell us why you think you would be best for the position. It's a post of honor. You would be asked for advice and guidance. How would you guide us if you were chosen? What do you see for us?"

Jacques rose to his feet. "I've lived here a long while. I'm mature and I know the nature of people. The youth and inexperience of young Matthew are not his fault. He's barely 14. He'll still need Sam and his great-grandmother to advise him. Does a chief advisor need an advisor? With Sam being practically an outsider absorbing the worst the outside world has to offer, the changes to our reservation will be dramatic. Do we want to retain our identity, or do we want to become any other Canadian town?" He sat down.

Matthew was invited to stand and speak. Sam gripped my shoulders more tightly. "Let me ask you a question, Jacques," he said. "You say you put no influence on Pete and Walter. You're their cousin and you live near them. You see them every day. Why didn't you know what they planned?" He waited a moment, but Jacques did not reply.

"If you can hear and interpret the speech of animals, why couldn't you hear your cousins? If it was their idea completely to bomb my great-grandmother's house and kill Sam, why _weren't _you aware of it? You say you know the nature of people. Why didn't you see into their souls and try to stop them?"

Jacques looked down, not answering the question. Sam rested his chin on my head. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was looking directly at Matthew. Together, we were projecting confidence to the younger man. He hadn't spoken before a council of elders before, but the thoughts and the words he was speaking were all his own. In spite of his youth, he might make a very good chief shaman.

"The few changes Sam recommended are not dramatic. They are superficial. When we first started using iron pots and rifles in the 1600s, no one thought these innovations were going to change our essential natures. Today, we use telephones, refrigerators, plumbing and electricity. Paving the roads or putting air conditioning in here won't need the approval of the high shaman of the community. Let the elders discuss the issue, listen to the opinions of those for or against it, and decide.

"It's not for my own honor or the honor of my family that I seek this position. I'm not afraid to seek the counsel of my elders. I didn't ask to be made high shaman for myself. My grandmother asked me to try since Sam didn't want it. He still doesn't, but I'll always value his opinion whenever he's good enough to visit us. I will continue to learn from my elders, even while I use my gifts to see into souls and interpret dreams. If I'm elected high shaman over all the families, maybe Jacques would agree to being one of my teachers. I'll abide by your decision."

"Jacques?" asked Mrs. Turtle. "Have you anything to add?"

"The boy has become a man," he said. "I think we should all support him. I'll abide by your decision as well."

Mrs. Turtle, Jacques own mother, looked at Jacques in surprise. "My son is growing up as well," she whispered. No human but her neighbor would have heard her. I heard it, of course, and relayed it wordlessly to Sam. He nodded.

The elders spoke amongst themselves, and then voted with a casting of stones into a basket, light and dark. Matthew was elected high shaman by all votes. The decision was announced by the counter in the longhouse and then outside. "It went well," Sam said. "Much better I would have imagined."

Matthew accepted the congratulations of his family members and the others. His mother and father hugged him. He came over to Mrs. Birchtree and kissed her wrinkled cheek. Then he walked over to Sam and me. "You gave me the courage to speak," he said to Sam. He turned to me. "Your help made it possible."

"They were your words," I said.

"You'll always be welcome here." I thanked him for that. It was good to have friends in high places.

The longhouse people went out onto the path and down to the square between the houses. Someone brought Sam a drum and drumsticks. He sat on an Adirondack chair with the drum held between his knees. "It's a water drum," he told me. A few men brought turtle shell rattles, and one brought a wide mouthed flute. "This beat will be different from the one I played this morning," he said.

He was the lead musician this time and his beat sent the message of reconciliation and peace. The flautist caught the music and tone, and wove a melody through it. The rattles provided background. The combined sound spread over the community like a blanket. Some people danced. As the sun crested and began to descend, I stepped into the lengthening shadows. It was nearly three in the afternoon. The influence of my blood sharing with Sam was ending.

When I looked again, Sam was handing over the drumsticks to another and coming for me. "It's nearly time to go to the airport," he said. "I made your reservations. Grandmother?" She was expecting his call and walked up to us.

"Follow me if you would, Mick," she said. She led us to Matthew's house back in the Birchtree neighborhood and brought us inside, to the kitchen. She found the jelly glass in the refrigerator. It had been covered well with plastic wrap to keep its contents liquid and safe as possible. "While you slept yesterday, I brought deer blood to my daughter's refrigerator. I think you can use this." She handed me the jar.

How incredible it was to be drinking blood in the presence of friends out of a jelly jar like this. Mrs. Birchtree averted her eyes. Maybe she thought a Protector's needs should be taken care of in private. Sam gave me a faint smile. I sighed and put down the empty jar in the sink. "Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome." Mrs. Birchtree took a last look at both of us, and let herself out. Sam disappeared for a moment. He returned carrying an overnight bag.

"What is this?" I asked. Mine had been destroyed.

"Clean clothing, a comb and a toothbrush to replace what you lost in the fire. I thought you might like to refresh yourself and shower before we left for the airport. We'll leave in half an hour so you'll have plenty of time for security."

The shower felt great. So much had occurred since my last one. I loved the feel of clean socks on my feet. When I came back, Sam had not changed. "They're used to seeing us like this in Montreal," he said. "Here's your boarding pass. I printed it off on Matthew's pc. You're flying first – class. Our treat."

He'd been busy. "And your people are afraid of paved roads?" I looked at him again. Something was missing. "Where is your bear necklace?"

"It's yours now." He pulled it from a inside pocket in his vest. He held it out with both hands. I lowered my head so he could put it on for me. He centered the ivory bear on my shirt. "A going away gift," he said.

"But I have nothing to give you," I said with a touch of sadness.

"You gave us this day and a better future than we would have had. Who could ask for more from a Protector? Besides, you have a Mohawk blood brother now. Are you ready to go?"

We shared a hug before I went through security to the gates. I had my own world in Los Angeles to return to. There would be two deaths soon. I guessed Coraline's would be one, but it would be just her mortal shell that died. She'd be back. She always came back. I could not guess who else must die, but I already knew I would avenge that death. There would be sadness, but there would also be happiness again. I believed in Mrs. Birchtree's dreams for me. I looked once more into Sam's honest face, gripped his shoulder, and then turned to walk down the ramp to airport security.


End file.
